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“I don’t, but I’ve been asking around. Henny recalls finding Terrence outside my office while Detective Morgan was questioning Zee. I don’t want to accuse him without any hard evidence, but that’s the only clue I’ve found so far.”
I nodded. Terrence. Yes. Terrence who faked a personal day on his calendar the day someone—presumably Derek—made a phone call to Rock in Montana from Reid’s office line.
Moira was right. This wasn’t hard evidence, but the evidence the cops had used to arrest me wasn’t much better.
All circumstantial.
“Are you sure there’s nothing else?” I asked.
“I hate being a…” She shook her head. “Well, for lack of a better word, tattletale. But that’s all I’ve found. I’ve questioned everyone close to my office.”
“I’ll make sure someone asks Terrence what he was doing over in the legal department, but of course, as Reid’s executive assistant, he could easily have a reason.”
“He and I haven’t been working on anything together, though.”
“He could have just been walking by.”
She nodded. “All Henny could tell me is that he was outside the office.”
“She didn’t see him arrive?”
“No. She was in the restroom, and he was there when she came back.”
Hmm. Convenient. He could have been waiting for Henny to vacate her post. “Was he standing there? Or just walking by?”
“I asked her the same thing. She wasn’t sure, but as soon as he saw her, he nodded to her and walked on.”
“I see.” The information wasn’t overly helpful, but it was enough for me to question Terrence myself.
Except I couldn’t.
My attorneys wanted me here. I could call Terrence over, but he’d ask about Reid and Rock. Right now, the official party line was that they were working round the clock on the Wolfe Cinquieme contract issues and couldn’t be disturbed.
On the other hand…
I was a skilled attorney. If Terrence came here, maybe I could get something out of him.
It was tempting, but no.
I needed to continue to lie low. If we didn’t get this solved, I could be going down for a crime I didn’t commit. The DA was already pressuring my attorney to strike a plea.
No way in hell.
“Moira,” I said, “I appreciate your candor. You have to admit, though, that those items didn’t just appear by themselves. Didn’t you notice them?”
She shook her head. “I don’t look on the top of my file cabinet a lot. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I did, but if I had, and if the hanky had been there, I’d have noticed. As for the business cards, I do open the top drawer to my desk quite a bit to grab the tube of lip balm I keep there. I’d have noticed them, which makes me think Terrence—or someone else—planted them during Zee’s interrogation.”
I was thinking the same thing, but I didn’t want to agree too wholeheartedly with Moira just yet. Let her think she might be in trouble. It would keep her watching her back, which meant if she was in this, she might slip up.
“Is there anything else you can tell me, Moira? Anything that seemed out of place to you?”
“Anything?” she asked. “Or anyone?”
I lifted my eyebrows. Interesting differentiation. “Either.”
“Just Terrence on that day.” She met my gaze, her eyes unreadable.
Did she want me to continue to probe? She was a good attorney. She had a good poker face.
“Just Terrence that day,” I echoed. “What about any other day since Derek Wolfe was killed? Did anything—or anyone—seem out of place?”
“Only once,” she said, “but it was only a day or two after the murder.”
“I’m listening.”
“I don’t see how it could be related, but Mr. Wolfe’s lady friend was in a heated conversation with Terrence in the hallway.”
“Mr. Wolfe’s lady friend?”
“Yeah. The supermodel. Fonda Burke.”
Fonda Burke. She’d been at the reading of Derek’s will, and she’d left in a huff along with Connie Wolfe when they both found they hadn’t been provided for.
I’d thought nothing of it at the time, but…
She had an alibi. The police had ruled her out almost instantaneously. She’d been out of town, and she provided documentation. None of her fingerprints had been found near the scene of the crime.
Which in itself was odd, since she and Derek were involved at the time. Her fingerprints showed up at other places in the penthouse, of course. Derek’s bedroom. His bathroom. The kitchen.
But in the living room, where Derek was killed, Fonda’s prints were noticeably absent.
How had we let her slip through our fingers?
I shook my head. Easy enough. We’d all been dealing with Morgan’s ceaseless interrogation and clearing our own names. And…we’d been led on a different path. Nieves. Hoss. Manny. All of whom were involved, but none of whom were guilty of the actual crime.
Yes.
Yes, indeed.
We’d been manipulated quite well.
We’d been played like an ace up the winner’s sleeve.
Fonda had all but disappeared after the reading of the will. Why hadn’t any of us taken notice?
